


Let It Burn

by FreshPrincessofCheyne



Category: DCU (Animated)
Genre: Angst, Bruce Needs a Hug, Bruce has a breakdown, Comforting Bruce, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Kissing, M/M, Some Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 01:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6403492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshPrincessofCheyne/pseuds/FreshPrincessofCheyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce burns down the manor. Clark does what he does best and comes to Bruce's rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let It Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Random drabble, lol. I hope you all like it as much as I liked writing it. Enjoy <3

Bruce waited and waited, until the flames burst from the windows, and the lawn was littered with thousands of pieces of glass that glinted in the moon's glow, like fresh dew on grass. He raised his arms, howled with his manor has it cried out in pain, sections giving out and caving in. Bruce's eyes were as bright as the fire, and as white as the moon that hung like a dented diamond in the sky. Spreading his arms further, he welcomed the uncomfortable heat that bubbled his skin as he stepped closer, shards of glass nicking his face as yet another window exploded due to the pressure, small pieces like snowflakes fluttering through the night air, and landing in his knotted hair. It was astonishing. Bruce has never seen anything so breathtaking. 

He screamed again, a deep rumble, mocking the noises coming from the manor. The right half of the home became nothing but a pile of rubble, dust forming around what use to be the library and the living quarters. Along with everything else, his parents portrait would burn, turn metallic-orange around the edges and flare, transforming into a hungry flame, and then proceed to disintegrate. Proceed to become nothing.

It matched Bruce's feelings. 

His eyes went even larger as black smoke curled into the sky, and clogged his senses. His eyes burned and so did his lungs. He coughed.

“Burn, you bastard! _Burn_!” He stepped back, admiring his work as his hell became ash. He roared again, longer this time, his manor crying back in defeat as the structure tumbled, cracking into the empty night like a bullet, the same bullets that tore through his parents flesh.

Bruce didn't consider it his home. He hadn't after the death of his parents. After everything, it had become the devil's home. He tried for so long to escape the devil, only to become the same one he's been trying to escape. There was only one way to defeat the devil. And that was to burn that motherfucker alive.

The next time Bruce screamed, it was even louder. However, it wasn't a scream of defeat or fear or surprise, but a scream of satisfaction, of victory. It was Bruce's battle cry.

And the only man who'd ever responded to screams, especially the ones that came from his lover, shattered the sky like the glass of Wayne Manor. Bruce's heart pounded.

“Bruce?” No response. A pause. “Bruce?!” Mortified. Clark was _mortified_. “ _Bruce_!” Eyes as wild as the breathing fire he so wished to taste, he turned around fast, just as Clark's feet touched the ground, pieces of glass crunching under his feet. He grabbed Bruce's shoulders and gave him a wild shake, jaw set. “What happened?” Clark's eyes flashed to the manor, and he searched through the rubble and the smoke for Alfred or one of the boys, heart beating faster than Bruce's. Clark gripped him so hard his fingers were already leaving bruises in Bruce's skin and he gave him another rattle.

“Are you hurt? What happened? Where's Alfred?” No response. He shook Bruce again, the world blurring before Bruce. He was dizzy. “Answer me, damn it!” Clark roared.

Bruce offered Clark a tiny smile of reassurance. “It was about time she burned,” he whispered.

Realization dawned upon Clark like the sun that begun to rise. “Bruce...” He began carefully, eyes hard. “What did you do? Did you do this?”

He only smiled. It was sad this time. Clark's chest felt hollow. He felt like he was missing something, and that something was Bruce, despite the man being right in front of him, heart still beating as strong as ever.

“What the hell did you do! What's going on?” The soot covering Bruce's skin darkened Clark's hands as he cupped the shorter man's face, staring into his dilated eyes, as if he could find an answer inside the tainted black. There wasn't one. He let go of Bruce and turned to the fire, flying above the manor and pausing to consider his next move. Then Bruce was yelling. It caught Clark's attention.

“Don't, Clark!” His voice was raw. “Don't do it! _Let it burn_!”

Clark cast him an apologetic glance, the man on the lawn, filthy with grief and pain. It was covering Bruce's skin so thick Clark could almost smell it. In seconds, Clark was circling the fire, until he was nothing but a red and blue blur among the flames that slowly lifted from Bruce's home and swirled and twirled into a tornado of heat. Bruce watched in fascination as the fire lifted, higher, higher, until it nearly reached the clouds and as fast as it happened, the fire died with nothing to feed it, and he was looking into Clark's eyes again. The manor was only a black pile of remains. Bruce could still smell the thick smoke, see how it still rose up from what was left of his hell and outlined the brightening sky, shaped like a serpent.

The punch delivered to Clark's face was...unexpected. Bruce's eyes seemed glassy as he gritted his teeth. “You idiot!” He snarled. He began to beat on Clark's chest, fists tight, and knuckles white. “Who the hell gave you the right? Why must you ruin everything?”

Clark slowly raised his hands to grab Bruce's, holding them to his own chest until the man calmed, stroking the inside of his palm like it was porcelain. “Bruce,” Clark said, softer than the early morning's breeze. “Bruce.” Bruce sunk to the grass with a defeated sob and Clark followed, arms instinctively wrapping around Bruce, cradling him. Bruce didn't make a noise, only gripped Clark's suit and breathed heavily into his shoulder. Clark's fingers brushed across the back of Bruce's neck softly, like it was a hummingbird's wings and it gave Bruce butterflies. He missed Clark.

As Clark was holding him, he focused on his calm breathing, and the chirping of the birds as the sun peaked over the horizon. Bruce guessed he didn't need adrenaline to give him butterflies, all he needed was Clark. 

He lied about what he said earlier. 

Clark was breathtaking. Nothing could compare, not even the destruction of Bruce's own demons. 

“I couldn't do it anymore,” he whispered, his own voice sounding unrecognizable. Clark didn't say anything. He knew Bruce would continue. “It was so hard, Clark. It was the only way to rid of it all. I can't do it anymore.” A timid pause. “It was the only way.” Bruce didn't feel as angry as he did before. He wondered if it was because of the strong arms protecting him from the heat that still radiated off what use to be his manor.

“I know, Bruce. I know. But someone once told me that in order to endure pain, you don't analyze it, you locate it. Then you move on. You push it to the far corners of your mind, and use your power to keep it tamed.” Bruce nodded his head; of course he would know, he was the one that told Clark that. “I know why you love fire so much,” Clark said. He stroked Bruce's dirty hair. He smelled heavily of smoke. “It's because it's something that can't be tamed, can't be controlled. I know that's how you feel. I know it was the only way you could express your uncontrollable pain, by using an untamed force of nature to destroy the memory that stands like a gravestone before you. I understand, Bruce. When no one else does, I always will. Remember that.”

Bruce tightened his grip on Clark as a response, Clark's deep voice thrumming through his bones and covering his flesh in goosebumps. Clark's voice never failed to make him feel lighter on his feet; swarm his mind with incoherent phrases. His tone was so soft, so beautiful, so tamed, and always was no matter what happened. 

“What have I done?” Bruce's voice cracked like thin ice. “Oh _god_ , Clark, what have I done?” Bruce rarely looked for reassurance when dealing with his own doubts. Clark happened to be the only one who could calm him down, make him feel reassured. He was the only one who's ever been able to do that. Clark never fails to amaze Bruce.

“Shh,” Clark said. “Just listen. Focus on the sounds around you. My breathing, the birds, the wind.” He held Bruce until the sun rose, until the stars vanished and clouds rolled in, and held Bruce still as the rest of the world moved forward. It was okay to hold yourself back sometimes. Let the world race ahead while you stop to nourish yourself. You'll always catch up. Well, Clark believed that, anyway.

“You may not be able to tame that fire, Bruce. But I can.” With that, he lifted Bruce's chin and pressed his lips against soot covered ones that trembled. Bruce straightened his posture and climbed further into Clark's lap, arms wrapping around his shoulders, fingers tugging at his hair. Clark got to his feet, Bruce in his arms. After, when he pulled away from the kiss, Bruce's eyes returned to their ice blue in the sunshine and his skin glowed like gold.

“Let's get away from here. I want to save you from the pain.”

This time, as Clark flew away from Bruce's home -well, what was left of it- he didn't argue. Didn't protest and say he didn't need to be saved, because everyone got scared, everyone hurt. He knew Clark would take care of him, and he trusted him with everything he had. Bruce was going to let Clark save him this time; take him away from all the hurt, like he promised. And Clark never broke his promises.

As they went higher, he watched his home disappear, his parents' graves two shadows on the dirty lawn. He held onto Clark tighter and looked away, focusing his attention on Clark's smell; a rare summer day where it rained without a cloud near, a rainbow painting the sky over the wheat fields. Lilacs. Vanilla. 

He kissed him again, the sky a saturated pink that swirled into its sapphire blue. He watched the clouds and wondered if his parents were doing okay wherever they were. He hoped they weren't too angry. He rested his cheek on Clark's shoulder and sighed. His heart throbbed.

“Can you take me to the stars someday?” Bruce whispered.

Clark smiled and held Bruce even closer. “You know I'd do anything for you,” he whispered back.

“I want to experience them together before I visit them myself some day. I want to be ready. And with you, I know I will be. With you, Clark, I'd be ready to do anything.”

Clark's heart lurched. He bit back a response, one that would beg Bruce not to think like that. Especially so soon. Instead, high in the clouds, the burning of the manor nothing but a memory, he kissed Bruce and said possibly the hardest and easiest words to say, “I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> When I write things like this it makes me sad because I want a Superman to comfort me :\\\ Anyway, hope you enjoyed my drabble! I love all the support and appreciate you all so much for being so friendly! I love you!!


End file.
